A History of Death
by Special K the Great
Summary: My name is Sirius, and this is my story. This is why I've done what I've done. I'm not very nice, as you'll see. In fact, you could say I'm plain mean. But nothing I've done is worse than what's been done to me. -My Little Series from Sirius's view
1. Everyone Wants to Die

Sorry, I know it's been a while. I've been very unwell lately. But do to the demand of a few encouraging readers (you know who you are), I offer this. This is the next (final, and I mean it) instalment of the "happy" little series I've started with Sirius. It's not finished yet. This is only the first chapter (wow, a fic with chapters from me...imagine that!). Anyway...enjoy.

BTW, please, please, please give me a little, teeny, tiny feedback. I need inspiration for this. It could end up being a big one.

The Padfoot Tragedies (all links found on profile)

Living Death

Memorial

Mourning Morning

Changes

Words I Never Could Say

The Reason

As of Yet Unnamed

**A History of Death**

_Everyone Wants to Die_

My name is Sirius, Sirius Black. Yes, I am _that_ Sirius Black. You may have heard of me; I'm the boy who was dead and now is not. I'm rather unremarkable really. I just happened to want to die. It happens. Everyone wants to die, you know, they just don't know that they do.

I did it though. I died. And now I'm here, not dead.

It doesn't make any sense to me either.

I suppose I was six the first time, but I don't know if it really counts. At the time I hadn't really wanted to die, at least not consciously. Father had just taught me a spell that would crush every bone in my opponents body should I so choose, and I had used it on Lucius Malfoy, who was visiting Number 12 Grimmould Place with his father. Lucius had been tormenting me with some spells the older Slytherins had taught him, so I crushed every single bone to powder in his hand—his wand hand—and his arm. The healers almost couldn't put him together again, and an heir that can't do magic is worthless to the family. In the end they had to banish all the bones and grow them back. Father was so proud of my accomplishment—he never really expected me to be able to cast that spell, you see—but all I could hear were Malfoy's pathetic screams while he praised me. It wouldn't be the last time I'd use that spell.

He felt me in his study alone, and I nicked my finger. I don't remember on what. A bubble of red blood grew from the little prick, and the screaming quieted. The more red that came, the less I could hear him. But the screaming came back when it stopped bleeding.

So I took a silver letter opener in the shape of a serpent from my father's desk and let it bite into my arm. It felt good, and the voice went away, so I kept opening my flesh a little more and more till I had a cut from my elbow to my white wrist. If it felt so good with one arm open offering fresh blood to the demons that called Black Manor home, wouldn't it feel even better with both?

It was harder to open my right arm. The letter opener was slick with my scarlet blood, and my left hand wasn't working right. I was surprised by how red my blood was. Mother always told me I had Black blood, but my blood wasn't black.

Once both arms were cut into the letter opener slipped out of my hand. I had gotten blood all over my father's floor, and I knew he wouldn't like that. My head felt all light, and my chest hurt. Then blackness. When I woke up I was strapped down tight to a bed. The air stank of purity and disinfectant. The light was harsh and bright white. I hated it. I was in St. Mungo's…in the mental ward. Someone had found me.

The Healer that was taking care of me was kind, but at the time she seemed like a monster to me—something completely foreign. I didn't know what she was saying to me—I know several languages, but at the time, not English. Father didn't want me to associate with muggle riff-raff, and what better way to do so but insure I didn't even know what they were saying. But she didn't point her wand at me and hiss that dreaded word and make my whole body feel as though every inch was subjected to a raging inferno of pain. She was kind.

I wonder what she thought of me. In my limited experience with children my own age most six-year-olds don't slit open their arms to stop the screaming. Most don't slit open their arms at all. Does that mean there was something wrong with me? Maybe. I never said there wasn't.

Apparently the Healers at various institutions have been using my case as a study for many years. To date I've been diagnosed with forty-seven different maladies, and that's only the magical ones. A "revolutionary" thinker has employed the use of a muggle science called psychology to solve the reason behind my madness. I stopped counting how many "conditions" they've diagnosed me with after fifty.

In short, they don't know what's wrong with me. It's almost funny really. I know what's wrong with me. What's wrong with me is what is wrong with every other Black. It's the Family Madness. We all have our vices; I just never limited myself to one. My mother liked to drink. My father did, too. Cousin Cissy loved her perfect, thin waist, so she wouldn't eat. She claimed it made her feel "pure." I tried that, too, after I had been sorted into Gryffindor and the Family turned Its back on me. There was nothing pure about it. It was agony every second. I never tried that again—if I'm going to die I prefer it to be a bit quicker and a little more pleasurable. But this was the third time I tried it, not the second as you will soon see. Cousin Bella just liked to hurt others. We all have our problems.

When I came to Hogwarts everyone was afraid of me—a snot nosed brat. I was the Slytherin-who=got=into-Gryffindor. No one trusted me. I trusted no one. I was alone. The Family would have nothing to do with me since I managed to dishonor them, and no one would have anything to do with me because of the Family. Then Remus Lupin, the quiet, unassuming boy who was one of my roommates, extended an offer of friendship, which I took. Soon I had gained two other friends—Peter Pettigrew and James Potter. It's funny. James became my best friend, but he hated me with everything he had before. Without Remus, I think we would always have hated each other.

My parents hated the Potters. And back then I just wanted to do something that would make them angry. It worked, a little too well at times. Later on when I ran away from Them the Potters took me in.

James never understood how I could do it, and he'll never be able to. His parents loved him, and he could do no wrong in their eyes. He never had to worry about his parents devouring his heart while he laid dreaming visions of goblin kings and labyrinths greater than any comprehensible. I laid awake waiting for it. The people who were supposed to love me no matter what would have killed me at the first sign of weakness. There was no such thing as "love" in the Family. Before I came to Hogwarts I had never been loved before. But I digress. You don't want to hear about that. You want to know why I did it.

Well, I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific. I did many things after all. I suppose you'll just have to wait until I get to the part of my little story you're most interested in.


	2. First Time

Here's the next peice to what could become my epic baby. Enjoy...BTW, there's some not at all sutle themes in here that aren't for kiddies. It's not graphic, but it's not nice.

**A History of Death**

_First Time_

My first time I had been eleven or twelve.

Not the first time I almost killed myself—the first time that everyone reveres and cherishes, the first time I experienced the pleasures of the flesh. I was a low, little first year—the Gryffindor reject—and she was a seventh year. Not just any seventh year—she was the Head Girl.

I can't remember her name anymore, or even what she looked like. All I can remember about her was her smile. It was like sugar—sweet, but too much of it made my teeth ache. She was tall, but everyone older than me was tall then.

She's also the reason why I don't like girls.

I was frightened by what was happening to my body. I was confused and scared and had no one I could talk to, and she made me feel things that I never felt before. I didn't understand it. I was ashamed. I thought no one else could possible feel what I was feeling or have experienced what I did. I hated it.

She had been so nice to me before—even protecting me from the older Gryffindors who did think I was like my family. She let me tag along with her in the library when she studied for her classes. She liked to pet my hair and called me her "little puppy." One day she told me she had a "treat" for me. Some treat. She took me to an empty classroom and made me take off my clothes and lie on the professor's desk in the front. I didn't know what she wanted, and I don't know why I did, but I did what she wanted.

I never really felt clean anymore after that. I scrubbed my skin raw that night in burning hot water, but I still felt filthy.

She told me she cared about me, and that's why she was doing what she was doing. I cried that night. I never cried before. After all, Blacks don't cry. I felt so weak. I didn't tell anyone—not Remus and especially not James. They couldn't possibly understand what it was like for your body to be taken over like that from the inside, or so I thought.

But she said she cared about me. She cared. That's why she did it. If people did that cared about you, what was so bad? I never said no when anyone would ask if they could touch me. After all, it was only because they cared. Right?

I always knew I was pretty—my features were too androgynous to be handsome. I inherited my father's looks, not my mother's. She looked like a hag, and acted like one, too. I was pretty, and so was Regulus. He still is. I still look exactly the same though. The potion I took that last time was supposed to stop my heart. I guess I didn't use enough aconite. Aconite slows down the heart, you see. It also paralyzes the muscles used in respiration. It makes the drinker die from asphyxiation before the heart stops. I shouldn't have stopped aging, but I did. I don't know why—neither do Lily or Severus.

Severus… I loved him, I think. It hurts to think about it. I don't want to talk about him yet.

I had loved Remus, too. And he use to love me. He was the first boy I let touch me, and for the longest time he was the only one. I trusted him. I loved him more than I loved everyone else in my life combined. I gave him my heart. I made a mistake.


	3. Pain

Heyya. It's me once more. I'm kind of worried about this story. It doesn't seem like too many people are into it. Should I continue it or just let it die?

**A History of Death**

_Pain_

You must think I'm some kind of little, whining Nancy boy, don't you? Oh, boo hoo! Poor little me. But I'm not. When I hurt, I make others hurt, too. I lash out. I suppose that makes me just like the family I tried to escape from. I hurt people so badly they broke out in tears the next time they would see me, and every time after that, too. You can take the Black out of the Family…but not the Family out of the Black.

I wasn't always so cruel. At times I was the happiest boy in all of England. I felt like I was flying despite both my feet being firmly on the ground. Every thing gave me a rush. I could reach out and touch colors and taste life. I could hear all the little creeping things beneath the ground moving.

It was like…well, magic.

As far as I knew no one else experienced that. I was special after all. Sometimes I had this desire to submerge myself in a certain scent. It wasn't until after I mastered the animagus transformation that I understood why. The dog spirit that inhabits my body is a particularly strong spirit, and it would manifest in me often. It was nearly impossible to hold back my magic. Thanks to my family I had extraordinary gifts. No one else could match my ability when it came to transfiguration or to most of my classes really. Professor McGonagall herself had to give me higher level-work before I even took my OWLs. In fact, that year while everyone else was taking their OWLs, I was taking my NEWT in transfiguration.

I had been born at the crusp of midnight, in the height of the witching hour. The moment I came into the world, magic was at its strongest, and it embraced me. I still haven't discovered my limits. I haven't even come close to them.

The witching hour—the half hour before and after midnight—is the strongest time for old magic. The half hour before is for good magic, while the half hour after is for the Dark Arts. Any spells cast then have a habit of becoming rather unpredictable. Often the magic lashes back and consumes the caster.

My mother used some of the darkest magic imaginable during my birth. Perhaps this explains the reason behind my madness.

My family has sired some of the most powerful wizards—and witches—in history. Magic is in my blood. I was destined to be great, and I am.

I am the youngest animagus in all of England—and the world. I mastered the transformation during my fifth year of school, weeks before James and months before Peter. I did it for Remus. H's a werewolf, you see, and we were determined to help him in any way we could. Werewolves don't attack animals, so we were perfectly safe.

James always found it funny that my form was a dog. Remus understood. The day I showed him my ability was the day he first kissed me. That night he took me to his bed and claimed my flesh, crawling as far inside of me as he could possibly be. It was the first time I hadn't felt dirty afterward. He held me afterward, let me stay in his bed. For the first time I felt loved.

Remus became my reason. He is the reason for nearly everything I've done. My story can't be told without him.

So, am I still so boo-hoo Nancy boyish?


	4. Sorting

Well, i decided to take a chance and continue. Please let me know what you think. It's hard to write from my twisted version of Sirius' POV. Quite emotionally draining at times. Please, send me a review and cheer me up...or at least tell me what's wrong with the story?

**A History of Death**

_Sorting_

I don't think I properly informed you as to why being sorted into Gryffindor dishonored my family so. Being a Gryffindor is a very big piece of who I am. It became a definition of my character. Every single member of my family, since the beginning of Hogwarts, has gone into Slytherin House. Every single one. I broke over a thousand years of tradition.

My mother was _all_ about tradition.

I was different. I wasn't the perfect heir the Family demanded. The Family demanded an obedient little puppet that would worship the pedigree and carry on the sanctity of our blood purity. They wanted someone who could look someone in the eyes and lie (well, I _can_ do that). They wanted someone who would do as told and crush the mudblood vermin underneath his foot. I was unacceptable because I could never do as I was told.

I never told anyone before, but the Sorting Hat almost couldn't decide where to place me. It argued between Gryffindor and Slytherin for so long, many people muttered that I had used dark magic to confound the relic. The fools. No on—not even Dumbledore—could confound that hat. Still, ten minutes is a long time to wait. It was even more nerve-racking for me. My future was at stake.

I was bold, and I was clever. I was brave, and I was sly. I was chivalrous, and I wanted power. I was temperamental, and I egotistical. I also had the pedigree. The hat couldn't decide. Though I was full of wit and natural intelligence, it didn't even consider me for Ravenclaw, which would have been tolerated by the Family. Neither was Hufflepuff considered.

Finally it asked me what I wanted. I answered, "I want to prove them wrong."

It chuckled and said, "Very well. With you, it's to GRYFFINDOR!"

The entirety of the hall went silent, even the head table. No one clapped. I was almost as shocked as the rest. My fate was sealed. Then the shouting started.

"_A Black! A Black in Gryffindor!"_

"_He'll kill us in our sleep!"_

"_Dirty little Snake!"_

Head Master Dumbledore stood and shouted, "Silence!" and the entirety of the hall quieted reluctantly. "Would you please take your seat at Gryffindor House Table, Mister Black. Professor McGonagall, please continue with the ceremony."

My first night in the tower was just as welcoming. I was housed with three other boys—Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, and James Potter as I've previously mentioned—and Potter would not let me forget that it was by a trick of fate that I was in Gryffindor. He declared a vendetta against me, swearing by his blood as a Potter he would beat me. He never did. But he was always the one who knew how to hurt me best…

The first morning I received a Howler from my mother. During the night my cousins Bellatrix and Narcissa had written to her and told her of the Sorting Hat's decision. Andromeda, the middle sister and always my favorite cousin, had never gotten along with my mother, or her sisters for that matter. She kept out of their plot.

I still remember what that Howler contained. I'm so glad she screamed in that dreadful mix of French and Latin she was so fond of rather than English. The only ones in the hall who understood her were my Family, some members of Old Families, and Professor Dumbledore. Still, it wasn't nearly as bad as it would have been if everyone knew.

_You are no son of mine! You shame of my flesh!_ (She would become quite fond of that expression later.) _How dare you! How dare you, you little, ungrateful brat!_

I knew Christmas Holiday would be a misery. It was.

I told you I stopped eating then to purify myself. That's only half of the truth. I stopped eating because I was afraid. I knew They could poison me just as easily here as They could at Black Manor. I stopped eating to stop myself from dying a worse death.

But it wouldn't have been the first time I've been poisoned.

When I was nine, Cousin Bellatrix dared me to drink a vial of extract of deadly nightshade. I knew it would kill me, make no mistake. I just didn't care. I downed it in a single swallow.

I had only wanted to get away from her. I don't know who gave me the bezoar. Perhaps my mother, but then again, why would she? If I had died then her precious child would have become heir. I was my father's favorite. Maybe he did.

Regulus started his first year during my second. The whole hall went silent at the sorting ceremony, just like they had when my name had been called. My brother walked to the foreground with the same haunty gate and masked expression all Blacks are so good at that I did when I was sorted.

I held my breath—anticipation? nerves? Take your pick. James was sitting next to me, and he saw my reaction. He grabbed my hand and have me a little squeeze to tell me he was there, and he understood. I must have nearly broken his hand from how hard I returned his grip.

My little brother took his place on the stool, and Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on his head.

"SLYTHERIN!"

My heart sank.

Slytherin House broke into cheers; Gryffindor House broke into jeers, but not James or Remus. They were silent to honor my feelings. Peter never noticed.

Regulus had made his first move to usurp me, even if it was unintentional. The Family finally had a worthy son for the title of heir, but Regulus would always call me his _grand frère_—his big brother—even when the Family said I was no longer so.


	5. Decisions

For wonderous Pandora, who knows what she did. I promise you the next part will be even more better.

**A History of Death**

_Decisions_

Technically I'm in my thirties, but I don't look a day past sixteen.

You already knew why I haven't aged. That potion I took. It didn't kill me like it was supposed to, otherwise I wouldn't be here, would I? It put me in a coma. Just a coma.

Worthless. Two months of research by candlelight with Lily and Severus wasted… At least I got to test it.

I'm still sixteen…everyone else isn't. I barely recognized anyone. They've all changed. Some are dead. Some are just lost. I feel like I've lost so much. I probably have. From the little they've told me and the more I've overheard, the Dark Lord is even more powerful now than anyone had imagined he would be. It's impossible to know who's on his side, or our side. I should say their side. Clearly they don't trust me. No, I'm too much of an unpredictable child to trust. Even Peter fell to his lies. I don't know if he's alive or dead—no one speaks of him.

My brother is a spy. Funny. He never had much of a back bone when we were younger. He was always the first to cave and tell Mother exactly what I had done. He was too afraid to break from Them before. What changed? He named his kid after me. Sirius Regulus Black. I didn't think he thought that highly of me. I was always under the impression I was too wild, too bold, and too foolish for his tastes. Still, he named his heir after me. He looks just like Regulus…just like me. He's taken to hanging about whenever I'm in the library. I don't mind. He has my crocked smile, but unlike me he knows when he's lost control of what's happening around him.

I never even imagined my brother would marry, let alone become a father. His wife is a real treat. She hardly left me out of her sight during the little time I spent at Black Manor after I woke from my sleep. Her name is Nicole, Nicole Black née de Lafent, and if I remember rightly, she had hated my brother when we all were young. How time changes people.

James has a kid as well. I never dreamed he ever would—even more so than my brother who I know would by duty—have a child, especially with Lily Evans. I never thought she'd actually give him a chance. Their son's name is Harry, and he looks almost exactly like James. And I don't want to recall how many times I've slept with him. Or why, but I suppose you do deserve an explanation since you've already listened to me for this long.

When I awoke I found myself twenty years into a world I didn't know, and that world had moved on without me. Harry looked at me like Remus use to and Severus still sometimes does. He wanted me, and I wanted to be wanted. It had been so long since I had been desired. When he kissed me, I didn't push him away. I welcomed his touch, and it had been too long since I had been touched by someone who didn't make me feel dirty. He was missing his dead boyfriend, and I missed everyone…anyone. I was angry and alone, and so was he.

I was also angry at James, for reasons I'm not ready to reveal. I do a lot of foolish things when I'm angry.

While we're on the topic of my discretions, what is the obsession my lovers—past and present—seem to have and have had with my neck? The first time we were together Remus sank his teeth so deep into the flesh where my neck and shoulder met that I still have the pearly scars. He lapped at my blood like a cat laps at cream. Severus wouldn't bite, but he would worship the column of my throat with gentle nips and kisses like angels' kisses in the pattern of a collar. Harry would mark me over the scars, trying to show that he's just as strong and just as powerful as Remus is, by bringing the blood to the skin in a spectacular bruising of my tender flesh. They all place their marks of possession on my flesh in some manner.

Others have marked me there, too.

But why am I even thinking of all this now?

Nicole…yes, dear Nikki. I was speaking of her wasn't I? Her best friend was the girl I would have married had I been content to be a good Black. Her name was—is?—Anna Marie. I saw a picture of her recently—Lily showed me it. After Hogwarts Anna Marie had eloped with her half-blood boyfriend and run off to America. They now have three kids and a dog. I almost hope she's happy. The point is while the picture is a few years old now, she hadn't changed. She looks the same, too.

If I had gone back to the Family after the disastrous Willow Incident, she would be Lady Anna Marie Black née Marius, and I would be Lord Black. We would have children—a boy with my looks (but maybe her temperament; doubtful since Black blood will out) to insure House Black would endure and a little girl with her curls to be sure all the other Families would still vie for House Black's affections, I think. That is the way our world works. I could have loved her after a time. She wouldn't have dared defy her family then—not if it was the Blacks she would marry into to. Her father—fearsome Octavian Marius—would have hunted her down had she broken that arrangement. He would have been all to happy to force her to walk down the aisle if it meant his family would gain that sort of power. He had no sons, only girls to use in his quest. Besides, he would have five other daughters to chose from to replace her if she met an unfortunate end. The Marius Family name will die.

But I didn't go back, and we're not married. We don't have children. She ran away from the Marius Family (a family almost as old as the Blacks, maybe older) and married a half-blood. If the Death Eaters ever catch up with her, they'll make her suffer, but not before killing her children infront of her and slaughtering the man who dared marry her.

I wonder what Lucius would do if he caught her. He always had a thing for her before The Family and The Malfoys arranged his and Narcissa's marriage. Speaking of the Malfoys, I met my cousin Draco for the first time. He's Harry's age. He looks like Lucius. I wonder if he would scream like Lucius, too. Everything about him screams Malfoy, except for his eyes. He has Black eyes.

We stared each other down, trying to get a measure of the other's strength. Wisely, he backed down. I know magic he hasn't even dreamed of, and he knows that. It won't be long before he tries to recruit me to "the club."

I must make my decisions. To fight—or to give in?


	6. Werewolf

Now for your (and by your, i mean Pandora's) reading pleasure...

_Werewolf_

In my second year I discovered I was sleeping next to a monster. I knew Remus Lupin was a werewolf. I knew it deep in my bones and in every crevice of my mind. I knew his secret.

When I told James of my suspicions he smacked and scolded me for making "such a horrible suggestion" against poor, delicate, and ill Remus. He told me it was a "very Slytherin thing to do," and he ordered me to stop speaking to my cousins—that they would ruin me (he was more right than even he could possibly know). But Remus wasn't delicate.

He was strong—far stronger than his wiry frame and slight stature could possibly allow. He was fast, and his senses unparalleled by any. And his eyes! Golden honey-amber pools which darkened as the full moon loomed closer served as the portal to his soul, such pretty eyes. They were and are almost as pretty as mine. I have seer's eyes, after all (though I've not told anyone else). I have eyes that the practitioners of the darkest arts would pay thousands in gold for gladly in pursuit of their craft. My eyes are special; Remus' eyes are the mark of a beast.

And the final proof—undeniable, even with coincidence—of his condition was his absence on the night of and the day after the full moon, always on those nights month after month.

I didn't think much of it before. It hadn't been until the Christmas holiday that the notion even entered my mind. That holiday my parents had a guest for dinner. He was Fenrir Greyback, a known, vicious werewolf who had turned the violent, unpredictable nature of his affliction to his advantage. He would purposefully position himself near to a target—more oft than not, a child—and wait for the full moon to rise. He is a madman.

I caught his eye, but even he would not dare anger the Blacks by attacking the heir, even if the heir was in disgrace. He looked at me like he would devour me, and I felt my skin crawl. He made my brother and me sit on his lap—we both were tiny then. My mother didn't like it, but she bore it. Father watched him with his eyes hawk-like in their intensity. Greyback inhaled my brother's and my scents and curled his fingers around our thighs.

I could feel his hard maleness press against the underside of my leg. I shifted so the hot, hard thing didn't touch my brother. Greyback must have thought I squirmed from nerves, and he chuckled at my "innocence."

"What pretty boys you have, Orion," he goaded as he licked the spot below my ear (he was the first to mark me there in any form). I shivered. I didn't want him touching me, let alone like that, but I had no way of making him stop and it would have been weak of me to beg my father to save me from the monster. "Especially this one," he continued, nuzzling my hair.

My father's hand flexed toward his wand, but he restrained himself and kept his perfectly cool expression.

"What's your name, Little Boy?" he whispered into my ear. I could feel his hot, muggy breath against my neck. I could smell on it the alcohol, sour and sweet, from dinner.

"Sirius," I answered softly. It was better to keep his attention away from Regulus, who was innocent in ways I wasn't. I didn't want Greyback to hurt him even if Regulus was a Slytherin and the Good Son and I was not.

His thumb drew circles high on my inner thigh. His hand was far to high to be appropriate even at a stretch. I knew in my twelve-year-old mind that he wanted me, and not only in the way werewolves crave human flesh on the full moon. He wanted me the way men wanted flesh…the way that girl had wanted and gotten me.

"Little Sirius," he coed, but it sounded like a growl. "Little, pretty Sirius."

"I'm sure you've heard what my son did to the Malfoy heir, Fenrir," Father remarked levelly, but the warning was clear. He was reminding Greyback of the kind of magic the Blacks favored—the dark and twisted magic that the Blacks are capable of. "Quite a feat at his age, wasn't it?"

"Quite," Fenrir growled and his grip on me tightened. He patted Regulus' thigh and motioned for him to leave. He did quickly and went to sit with Mother. She coddled him to her bosom. She never would have done that for me. Greyback settled me more securely onto his lap, using me as leverage in his battle of wills with Father. "Very impressive. Yes, I've heard of that. But the Malfoys needed to be reminded of their mortality, didn't they boy?"

I didn't quite know what he meant by that.

"That's why I enjoy my condition so much, Orion. I get to remind you ignorant wizards that you're only mortal, and death can take you at any time," he whispered, but everyone heard him. As he said that, he tightened his hold around my waist. "I have a pup Little Sirius' age. That one was a real treat. He was lovely just like I'm sure you were when you were young," he spoke softly into my ear, only loud enough for me to hear. "I hear he's at Hogwarts with you now," he added, again only loud enough for me to hear.

"Orion, you must allow me to bring Sirius to the world of men," Greyback commanded, and I knew he was leering over me. I know now what he meant, but then I hadn't the faintest idea. I was too frightened by the knowledge that there might be a werewolf at Hogwarts. Surely it would be a Slytherin, wouldn't it?

"No," Father declared coolly, his tone said that he would not reconsider. "Sirius, come sit by me."

And that was the end of Greyback's presence in Black Manor Proper.

What he said stayed with me though. There was a werewolf at Hogwarts. Remus again was absent on the first full moon after holiday, and I knew it was him. Remus was the werewolf. And James didn't believe me.

But unlike what some people believed, not everything James and I did was done together.

I approached Remus and confronted him, and he cracked. He admitted it, and I swore to him that I would never tell, as long as he told James and Peter. He did, but James never apologized to me for what he did when I told him of my suspicions. We became the guardians of his secret.

In our third year our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor (who would only teach for one year before a great personally tragedy would drive him insane) taught us about dark creatures. One of the early lessons was on bogarts. Bogarts…shape-shifters that take on the form of whatever the person nearest to it fears the most.

When it was my turn to face it, I froze. I, the great, invincible Sirius Black, froze. I didn't want to face my fear. I didn't want people to know.

The bogart turned into my mother in all of her wretched glory. She raved in that horrid mix of French and Latin, and I was paralyzed. Then the thing rose a wand that looked exactly like hers and hissed exactly like her, "Crucio!"

There's no way to describe what the Cruciatus Curse is like to someone who'd never been under that spell. It's agony beyond anything you've ever known. It feels like your bones and melting and all your skin is peeling off…being filleted with a dull razor. Your nerves burst in blinding white pain. And that is only a fraction of what it feels like.

It wasn't as bad as it is when She uses it. A bogart, after all, in only imitation. Still, it brought me to my knees.

I don't know who was screaming louder—me, or the girls in the class. I think someone threw up. The professor was too shocked to do anything. He just stood there gaping as my mother cackled hysterically.

Remus had to get between me and the bogart. It turned into the full moon, but everyone was too shocked to notice. He and James had to take me to Madam Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing. I could barely walk from all the spasms my muscles were going though. Ah, the havoc that spell reaps on the nervous system. I did throw up on the way there.

Remus risked exposing his greatest secret—his most dangerous secret—to stop my bogart.

I would repay him by using his secret as a weapon.


	7. Why

I'm back! i have the next two parts written, but I have yet to get around to typing them up. Let me know how this is, please?

_Why_

The big question: why did I try to use Moony to kill a boy I claimed to love? That is a good question. Very good indeed.

There's no simple answer.

I loved all of them—Remus, Severus, and James. I loved them all so much it hurt. James was my best friend, my brother, and my soul mate in the purest platonic form. His family took me in when I had no one. The summer after fifth year I had ran away from Them. I couldn't bare it anymore. I was in…a particularly low place. Bellatrix and her husband were both Deatheaters, and she liked to use me to practice the Cruciatus curse. She didn't have quite the talent for it that my mother did. That summer I tried to hang myself. It almost worked, but Mother's vile little house elf found me.

I never felt pure pain quite like what I felt after my mother got her talons into me once Kreacher had told her what I did. I wished for death, but I had been denied. I turned to James, and his family excepted me. His mother told me to call her "mum." I was the second son she and Mr. Potter desperately wished for, but could never have.

Remus was also part of my soul, but he was my lover. He held my heart, but I didn't mean as much to him as he did to me. I suppose I'm something of a slut—I never sought people out, but I never turned them away either. I was by no means Remus' first, now was he mine as you all ready know, but he felt like the way the first time should. Then his attention drifted. It's not his fault. Werewolves have a natural urge to spread their seed as much and as far as possible, unlike natural wolves who mate for life. It's a lot like what happens when an animal in the wild is bitten by a snake and goes into rut, it's body knowing it will die and seeking to sire the next generation. Remus had his fun, and Moony urged him to continue on after a year. He moved on, but I was expected to stay loyal so that any "pups" I'd have would undoubtedly be his. In theory is would have worked if I had been born a girl…but then again I would have been drowned by the time I drew my second breath if I had.

Then I saw Severus Snape.

I knew who he was, of course. For years he had been the target of James and my tricks, and he gave as good as he got. We would fight as vicious as dogs. No one else has ever given me the challenge he has. Sometime early in sixth year Severus and I has an accouter in the dudgeons, and somehow we kissed. At first it was vicious and full of passionate hate. We ended up on the floor tearing at each other's clothes like animals, teeth and nails and pain. But the hate didn't last long. The scratches became caresses and the bites became kisses. It became a dance, and we both were hooked.

We continues in secret. But of course, as is the way with secrets, it didn't stay so for long. We were found out. James saw us. He cornered me after Severus had gone. I still remember every word that left James' mouth. He pulled no punches.

"What in bloody hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded, shoving me back against the cold stone wall. I cracked my head off the wall and lost my balance as the colors danced in my eyes. The only reason I didn't fall to the floor was because he held me pinned against the unforgiving stone. "Snivellus? You're cheating on Moony with that little slime ball?"

"It's not like that, Prongs!"

"Then what's it like? Because that's what it bloody well looks like!" he shouted. "You sicken me. My family took you in! You're my brother! Now you're on your knees for the Snakes? What is wrong with you? Isn't Moony good enough for you or something?"

I was tempted to ask if I was deserving of the bruises and bites Remus left on me, but I stayed silent. Sex with Remus was almost never gentle. When we were alone Severus never hurt me. We had to keep up appearances in public, of course, but he never really harmed me then either. Not like Moony. I loved Remus, but I loved Severus, too.

He told Remus. James did, I mean.

It was the day of the December of the full moon. I remember how bitterly cold it was that day. Not even the warming charms cast on the school were enough to combat the biting air. I had stayed bundled in a fur-lined cloak the Family had given me the previous Christmas (I was practical enough not to cast aside all the pretty gifts They gave me ((I may have been a disgrace, but They couldn't let me look like one)) ) all day long. I've always been sensitive to the cold…

Remus was angrier than I had ever seen him before. He pulled me by my hair from my bed and throw me to the floor. I wouldn't report it to Madam Pomfrey, but he cracked more than one of my ribs then.

I was too much in shock to remember most of what he said. I can only remember him demand me to "Choose, or don't bother to come tonight." Remus wasn't happy with my heart, even if he didn't want me! Severus loved me, and I nearly killed him. Lily would later leave him for James. Is it any wonder he's so bitter?

I wanted to tell Severus I had no choice. I wanted to tell him if I did, I would choose him every time. I wanted to tell him I love him. But I didn't. Instead, I told Severus we had to end it that night. I told him we couldn't keep up that farce. It broke me inside, but I told him I never loved him at all. I lied.

"Why?" he asked, desperate.

I don't know what possessed me to do it. My thoughts were tremulous and treacherous. James had betrayed me, Remus was killing me, and Severus wanted to know why? I suppose I thought it would be easier to show him why. So I told him how to get past the whopping willow tree that guarded the entrance to passage that led to the Shrieking Shack. I told him how to find Moony.

I had doomed them both.

It took several minutes to realize what I had done. Severus was already gone, and it was nearing moonrise…Remus had already gone down to the Shack, and James and Peter would be going down soon as well.

I ran to find James. He was still in our dormitory when I found him, behind the curtains of his bed looking through of all things a filthy magazine full of perverted photos of young women in the nastiest of activities. He was in the process of self-gratification, and Moony and Severus were walking to their deaths?

Before he could shoe me away, I gasped out what I had done.

Within a breath his pants were done up again and he had punched me. He didn't say anything. He just punched me and ran out the door. Peter watched with wide eyes from his bed. I didn't move. I stayed curled on the floor, my nose bleeding all down my front.

Hours later Professor McGonagall came for me and took me to Professor Dumbledore's office. He was so angry…I thought he might hit me, too, but that's preposterous…he doesn't hit. He can make you feel like the lowest of the low, but he never physically touches you. He makes you wish he just would.

Severus hadn't dies; James had gotten there in time.

It wouldn't matter. I had already ruined everything in less than a few hours.


	8. Awake

Hello from the world of me. So sorry that it's taken me this long to update. Life has gotten in the way once again. Anyway, there are several people this chapter is brought to you by:

Pandora de Romanus, who has been serving as my critical analyst for mostly everything I write now. Big thanks to her.

Eldonyx, who has graciously given me the French for this chapter. Another big thanks since Eldonyx has now saved you all still reading this from trying to suffer through my horrible attempt at French.

And lastly, my best friend Carly, without whom there would be no stories.

BTW, there may or not be a Moulin Rouge somewhere in the chapter. I also quite surprised no one picked up on my reference to The Labyrinth in the first chapter. I thought it was quite obvious. Yhea for David Bowie and Glam Rock.

_Awake_

Last time we spoke I told you why I almost killed Severus. But maybe that's not the why you wanted answered. You still want to know why I would take that potion.

I'm sorry to disappoint, but I don't want to talk about that yet. I want to talk about waking up.

You already know what kind of world I woke up to. Twenty years…blah, blah, blah…it's a little bigger than that. It wasn't like I just closed my eyes and suddenly "as if by magic" opened them to find myself here. I was in a different world. at first it was the most perfect place. There are no words to describe what it felt like. It was the strongest feeling of peace and contentment I've ever felt. I was for want of nothing. I was happy.

Then it was ripped all away. Are you starting to see the pattern? Happiness never lasts long for me.

Remus—foolish, foolish Remus—tried to bring me back. He thought I was in hell for my mortal sin. I wasn't. it was nirvana. Something pulled me out of there into a place of utter sorrow. It was empty while still being completely filled. It was horrible and dark and ruled by some malevolent force beyond comprehension.

I saw Remus walking away from me, and that force compelled me to follow him. So much like a puppet pulled by the strings, I did. for how long or how far I followed him, I don't know. Then there was a bright light surrounding all around. He turned around…

…and then my chest exploded in a blinding shock of horror and cold. The light went away, and so did everything else. That was when the nightmares took over.

I have no idea how long the torment lasted. It was worse than anything my mother had dreamed of, so much worse without ever leaving a mark to show for it…unless one can see my bleeding soul. Every moment more than ever I wanted to end it—but how could it? I was already dead. Was that to be my punishment? Everything was so perfect and beautiful, but it was taken all away. For years and years and years it would go on.

Then one not so very special day not so long ago, my eyes opened, and above me was James surrounded by a white-gold haze. He saved me from the darkness, only it wasn't James. Too short. Too quiet. Eyes too green to be James. They weren't James' eyes…but I knew whose eyes they were. I could never forget those eyes.

Worse yet the air around me was stale and heavy. I felt like I was suffocating, and then I realized all around me I was looking through glass. I was trapped in a tomb of glass! I could feel my guts knot and my muscles seize as the panic set in. understand—my mother had shown me a coffin once. It was tiny—child sized. She told me it was mine. When I was very young I had gotten horribly, terribly ill with an ancient sickness that plagued the Old Families. The coffin had been ordered when it seemed I wouldn't make it through another night. She forced me inside it and slammed the lid, cackling all the while like a mad thing…

Death never scared me, but the coffin with the narrow, suffocating walls terrified me completely.

And those cold, unforgivable walls were what I woke to.

I slammed my palms and fists against the glass, thrashing, trying to brake free. There was a lost movement from the other side as the monsters on the outside tried to open the glass. I couldn't see any faces…my vision was becoming hazy as the panic completely over took my senses. Then there was only the burning, biting sharp agony through my hands and blackness.

The blackness wouldn't remain. I became aware again to see a man nearly identical to my father holding my hands tenderly, adoringly, as he whispered a healing charm and the pain became less. But like with James, it wasn't my father. The eyes were too soft and there wasn't nearly enough grey in his fine mane of black hair. He had me gathered in his arms and whispered softly like one would to a frightened animal in a language I haven't heard in so long, "Bon Dieu! Tu es avec moi, mon frère. Tu es en sécurité. N'aie pas peur. Tout va bien aller maintenant. *" Muttered also was the phrase, ""Comment est-ce possible? #" over and over under his breath.

There was a woman there, too, stroking my hair. Such a pretty woman. She had rich red hair and bright green eyes, the same eyes as the boy. Why would two perfect strangers have Lily's eyes?

I broke down and wept. I felt so weak and tired and all I wanted was to sleep. My hands, though completely healed by the man's spell, ached and burned as though they had been held into a fire.

The man who held me picked me up, caring me gently like I was a girl. I didn't have the strength to stop him. I couldn't even recall what the words were that would stop him. The woman and the boy spoke hurriedly to him, but I couldn't understand what they said. My mind was racing with a million and more thoughts, and everything was too loud, too bright, and too strange.

Then I felt a pull in my stomach and the air crackled as the man holding me apparated from the tomb.

I passed out or blacked out yet again and became aware to find myself this time laid on a bed—soft, warm. People were surrounding me—that man, woman, and child, along with another man the child who looked like James looked like. They spoke in hushed voices, hurriedly and worriedly as one did at the bed of a dying man. They were frightened.

Then a voice shouted, "Lily!" The other man left and came back soon with yet a fifth person—and he looked furious. I knew instantly who he was. The name flashed in my mind in a burst of color—brilliant, dazzling, and completely frightening. He was Remus and the man who healed my was my brother and the woman was Lily and the other man was James…but I didn't know who the boy, Lily and James' son.

Remus was screaming and another woman with a baby came. She was my cousin, I think Andromeda…the only one I've ever liked. Remus kept screaming. He aid such hurtful things…accusing me of just pretending to just screw with his mind. He called my Nymphadora, who as far as I knew was Andromeda's baby girl. Soon the whole room erupted in shouting—my brother and James and Andromeda and Lily. It was a constant boom and I saw the demons that had been my greatest tormentors dance before my eyes. It was horrid, and I thought it was just another trick those beings of hell had created to punish me. What better way to do so then make me think I had been set free?

I wanted to escape so badly. Anything was better then that.

Then I remembered that I could. There was a part of me I had been to ashamed to touch for many years—a part of me I had found in the quest to help my dearest friend. But now I didn't care about the shame. I only wanted to stop the noise. I let Padfoot take control of our shared body and in a seamless transformation like flowing water, my weak and tired body melted painlessly to that of a great dog.

The noise stopped, and utter unbroken silence took its place.

They don't know, but since that night I haven't been able to find the place in my mind where Padfoot hides. Since that night, I can only feel him there, but every time I try to let him free to have control, he just melt away, leaving me all alone.

* * *

*My God! You are with me, Brother. You're safe. Don't be afraid. Everything's going to be okay.

#How is this possible?


	9. Final Choice

This is it! It's finally finished. All these weeks of laboring have finally come to fruitition. This is for everyone who's stuck with me this far. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Without people like you, I'd have no reason to write.

Any questions, comments, critisms can be sent to me. I would love to hear your thoughts.

**A History of Death**

_Final Choice_

Each and every time I lay down my head and close my eyes I wonder if I will wake up again, or if these past few months have only been a brief reprieve in the endless torment. It doesn't scare me. It just…I don't know exactly what it does to me. I've already accepted that possibility might be fact and that there is no changing it if it indeed is.

It's been almost twenty years since I took the potion that should have killed me... twenty long years.

Remus, despite his words of hating me, despite swearing he'd never again fall to my "tricks," despite accusing me of being incapable of ever loving anyone except myself (when I can't even do that), despite my affair with Harry, sought to reclaim me with a brutish intensity. I hated it, but for the longest time I did nothing to stop him.

Then Severus gave me a reason. I realized I was making the same decision that I had sworn I would never make again if I had a chance.

So I fought back. I bucked away from Remus' control. He tried to stop me, so I followed my gut's instinct and made him let me leave. Do you remember what I did to dear Lucius? That little spell, while completely devious and cruel, is very useful. I don't think he'll try again…and I don't think his hand will ever be the same. Madam Pomfrey couldn't even help him, and he'd never be allowed into St. Mungo's. I loved him once. It wouldn't ever work anymore.

I finally told Remus what I should have told him years and years ago. I told him I was done with his sort of love. I finally realized that everyone who ever claimed to love me had lied. They never really loved me because to do so would have been to except me for everything I am instead of loving me for something I wasn't. They wanted me. They wanted to use me. They never loved me.

I was done being used.

Twenty years ago I was abandoned by everyone I thought was my friend. I was totally, bitterly alone for months. And while I was left alone for those months and months, I revisited the cause of my first almost death, but this time I was more careful of where I would cut and how deep. For those months my best friend was a little silver razor, and that little razor never asked for anything from me except a little patch of skin to bite into.

And what a bite it was! A quick, cold bite would send a shiver down my spine and turn into a slow burn as red seeped, and the torment, pain, and loneliness would dissipate for a time as the demons gluttoned themselves on my offering, rejoicing now more than ever in a euphoria that rushed quickly to an amazing climax. The let down back to normalcy was slow, fast, horrible, and great all at once.

I loved the feeling and the high it gave me. I came back to the razor more and more.

If anyone ever saw the scars left behind when I wasn't careful to use a charm to knit back together the skin, they never made a fuss, and for that I was and am grateful. It would be too hard to explain its necessity to day-to-day existence.

I liked my razor, just like James liked his Mary Jane.

I had grown up in the sixties and my teen years spread the seventies. During that era "counter-culture" was a powerful force, and the muggle-born students brought with them their own kind of magic to Hogwarts. Soon the students of even the Oldest of the Old Families were just as into it.

I had gotten my first joint from Gideon and Fabian Prewett (now deceased) in my third year. I had shared it with James. We had snuck out under the cover of his invisibility cloak and onto the roof of the Astronomy Tower, and spent the night well into dawn watching the stars dance across the sky.

The high was great, but I always got sick on the come back down. That never stopped me for joining Jams for more.

Honestly, after everything I've told you, does a little marijuana surprise you? Almost everyone tried it at least once then, even if they won't admit it.

Remus and Peter would join us in our dormitory for future experiments. The weed always made Remus more gentle…al he wanted was food and sex, but not the angry sex we usually had…or if it did hurt, I was too high to know any better.

I'm sorry. It hurts to talk about the good times almost if not more than the bad.

For two months after the Incident I was alone. And then Lily—beautiful, sweet, compassionate Lily—showed my kindness. She gave me comfort when no one else would. In a way I did love her, too. James would hate to know I had her first…I think she might have been the only one to have ever loved me without definition. Too bad I could never truly lobe a woman. Women have hurt me too much to ever open myself up to one completely—my mother, cousin Bellatrix, the Head girl among others.

It wasn't like we meant to either. It just…happened. We had snuck a bottle of fire whiskey into a room called the Room of Requirement, a room I had been staying in for several weeks. We got drunk, and I suppose the only defense I have is it was a good idea at the time. I wonder how many times James and I have used that excuse.

So I claimed the fair lady's maidenhood. I think she was also the only virgin I've ever had. After that was also the filthiest I've ever felt. I felt so down…it was worse than my lowest low and so much worse than any comedown. So much worse. It festered in my gut and made my skin crawl as she laid sleeping with her head on my breast and her sweet-scented hair tickling my senses. Her skin was so soft, so pure, not scarred with the marks of dark magic like mine. She was a flower, so beautiful and fragile yet resilient. That hadn't changed, even to today. I was a cancer, destroying her purity.

It was that moment that for the first time I truly, truly, and completely hated myself.

I'm rambling again, aren't I? Sorry, I'll try to stay the random thoughts. There is just so much that needs to be said, and now that I've come to it, I don't know how to say it. To think me without words…

So I had officially stabbed a knife into the backs of everyone I had ever called my friend. I as much a Slytherin as anyone else in my family. Despite hating myself so much, that wasn't the reason behind my suicide. It was only one of the many factors. James again served the role of catalyst to my misery.

It was sometime in March…after the equinox. Or was it the night of? I can't seem to recall. Funny, I can remember every other moment of perfect misery to the exact detail…but I can't remember the night I finally killed myself. Isn't irony deliciously cruel? I have avoided Lily and James and Remus and every other sentient being that day. I locked myself away again in the Room of Requirement and was determined to rot alone. Of course, I still had detentions left to serve for almost killing Severus and Remus, so I had to leave my sanctuary.

Guess who I ran into. James.

I suppose he didn't feel I had properly atoned for my sins, and proceeded to remind me of my mistakes, as though I had forgotten.

What could James have possibly said that would finally drive me to suicide after months and months? _"It was just a game to me. You never meant anything to me. Maybe your mother should have drowned you, you lying little whore!"_ His muddy brown-green eyes blazed and his boyish face contorted in a demonic mask of rage. For a moment I hated him completely with every last fiber of my being. But then I felt numb. I had finally realized that maybe he was right, and just maybe I should show him how right he was.

James could be just as every bit as cruel as me. Is it any wonder we got along so well?

I had kept a vial of the potion in the Room of Requirement…I won't bore you with the reasons why. So I returned and collected the little vial. I wanted to see the stars one last time before I would die. I had always loved the stars. Even when I was locked in the prison of Number 12 Grimmould Place, I always had the stars. The cold orbs of shining light have never abandoned me, unlike my so-called friends. My own star shines brightest of all.

It was these stars I kept in my eyes when I took the potion. I had taken refuge in the Astronomy Tower, the closest place I could find to my precious stars. I suppose it was all very romantic…a little cold but the stars were clear and the full moon cast a white glow on the world and the little layer of snow reflected the glinting light. In the distance you could almost hear great howls mourning a greater loss…

The drought tasted like ambrosia and honey on my tongue. A peace filled me and warm droziness weighed down my lashes. All I wanted was to sleep…the little glass vial slipped from my fingers and shattered in a brilliant explosion of glass on the stone beneath my feet.

Lily tried to save me again. Bless her that she can't see a damned soul when it dances before her eyes! But this time she was too late.

Her brilliant red hair is the last thing I can clearly remember then. She was crying and kept asking, "why?" "Why" seems to be a question many are fond of asking me…

With the little bit of awareness I had left I offered her what little comfort I could. I quieted her and whispered, or I think I did, _"Sorry, but I can't do this anymore. It hurts too bad…I miss him, and I hate him…I can't…"_ I can't remember what came next… This is harder than I thought it would be.

For some reason a verse sticks in my mind…I don't know why it does…unless I made another prophecy. Most seers can't remember, but then again, you already know I'm quite unique. Sometimes I can recall entire prophecies…sometimes only a few words. I've always just attributed it to my blood line…and my birth. Perhaps the Witching Hour caused more than my madness…

_The dead do not sleep_

_They only wait_

_Hell's gates will open_

_And the dead shall walk_

Forgive me for my egotism when I say I do not doubt this is about me…but why? It's the only thing I can't understand. Allow me but a moment longer to moan. Why me?

And then for all intents and purposes, I died. Finally after all those years, I had succeeded.

That's it. That's what happened. That's the grand story of my life. I bet you're wondering why you even bothered to listen to me whining. Was it worth it? Or is my sob story no different than any other?

The sad part of all of this is that you don't even care. Not really. You don't know me. You only known what I've chosen to share with you. You can't possibly understand. And to think I've wasted all this time conversing with a voice in my head, telling you things I never had any intention of telling anyone…I truly am mad.


End file.
